"— and these two shall go to Nirmathas for me. Accompany them if you wish, or go elsewhere if you prefer. I know what a loyal Molthuni agent would do. And I think you do, too."
Silence fell. Then Ahrkholm sighed and said, "I shall accompany these two to the Shattered Tomb, and see that they bring you back this gauntlet, and then pass into my custody."
Telcanor smiled triumphantly. "Go, then, with my bodyguard-" He waved at the mountainous Zreem. "-who shall conduct you to suitable quarters for the night. You shall be served a fine meal, and I shall join you later for pleasant conversation, over good wine."
"Lord Telcanor, I have other business to conduct this even-"
"Cancelled. A pity it'll have to wait until this pressing mission for Molthune is done. If it's just passing on a report to a fellow spy for the Imperial Governor, I'm sure you'll manage to do so between here and the Nirmathi border. If it's dropping through someone else's skylight, well-" The noble shrugged. "-they do say that a pleasure deferred is a pleasure intensified. Though I've little personal experience of that, aside from a few private little matters of revenge …"
"Lord Telcanor-"
The noble turned away, and said over his shoulder, "Your meal awaits. A bath, if you'd like. High Investigator Ahrkholm, you are dismissed."
"But …"
Telcanor merely waved a denial, and Zreem started ponderously forward. Tantaerra heard Ahrkholm sigh again.
"This way, sir," the huge bodyguard said courteously. "Mind the glass …"
Tantaerra heard a door close, somewhere behind her. The nobleman rubbed his hands together with a satisfied air, then paced over to stand before his two prisoners in their chairs.
"If you can deliver the Fearsome Gauntlet to me," he said with an almost fond smile, "I'll believe you truly are investigators from the General Lords, and we can work together. For the rest of our lives, and for the greater glory of Molthune. Even abandoning our feud with the Mereirs if need be."
Then he spun away from them-and right around to face them again, the smile replaced by a scowl. "Yet know this: if you are the imposters that high-ranking liar claims you are, and somehow slip away from him and do not bring me the gauntlet, I'll have you hunted and slain on sight, anywhere in Braganza, or Canorate, or Korholm, or any corner of Molthune. Even into Nirmathas. The Telcanors are many, and we have allies few suspect. Believe me, our reach is long-and our wealth reaches farther."
He strode to the wall of doors, struck a gong, and departed the room, leaving them still chained to their chairs.
Tantaerra swallowed. "Masked man, are you …all right?"
From the other chair came a dry chuckle. "I've been better. Our future looks rather bleak."
Tantaerra tried to nod, found the taut chain made her attempt queasily painful, and settled for sighing instead. "This Lord Telcanor seems less than sane to me."
The chuckle from the other chair was heartier this time. When it ran down, he asked, "Are you sure you or I would really be all that different, if we never had to be polite or hide our true feelings, and had almost our every whim satisfied? Many nobles are little better than spoiled children, and this is one of them."
"Oh? Just how many nobles have you known?"
"You'd be surprised."
Tantaerra opened her mouth to say something sharp to that, but four of the doors facing them opened in unison and the armored men who'd brought them here marched into the room, heading right for them. She sighed again, and fell silent.
∗ ∗ ∗
Tantaerra felt like a prized piece of meat. The guards had been no gentler this time. They'd taken The Masked to another room, handling him even more brutally. She doubted he screamed easily-and he'd screamed more than a few times.
Once she was locked into her own chamber, however, only three of the armored guards had remained, and they'd done nothing but sit and watch as some of the largest and most muscular human women Tantaerra had ever seen had washed her, trimmed her hair and nails, then laid her on a table in a shallow heated and scented bath and gently massaged her bruises. They all had red plump fingers liberally adorned with rings, and they'd washed her wounds with mild wine and covered them with some sort of sticky, daubed gum that smelled of bruised pine needles, that they then covered with strips of new cotton cloth.
Then they'd bundled her into a much-too-long warming robe, sat her in a chair, and fed her the nicest meal she'd ever eaten, some sort of wonderful herbed cream broth over cut-up roast fowl. They'd even brought her seconds when she lifted up the bowl to lick it, then topped it with sugar-iced biscuits and a tiny glass of berry cordial.
Well, if this is how Lord Telcanor mistreated guests, he could mistreat her every night of her life, from now on.
Tantaerra winced at the vivid imaginings that thought brought her, and ruefully reflected that if this little task was half as dangerous as he'd made it sound, there wouldn't be that many more nights of her life. After all, if fetching this magic gauntlet from the Shattered Tomb was easy, someone would have done it years ago.
Yet it must be real, because if Telcanor had just wanted them dead, he could have had his guards wring their necks instead of chaining them to those huge stone chairs-the presence of which suggested he pranced and preened in front of prisoners often. She wasn't sure she agreed with The Masked about his sanity, after all.
She wouldn't be at all surprised if there weren't some secret way into this room, and that His Blustering Lordship wouldn't come creeping in on her before morning.
"Come," one of the guards said brusquely, getting up out of his chair, the other two warriors rising in his wake.
They let her keep the robe, and didn't even lay hands on her, but merely surrounded her and conducted her out of the room, down two long passages and a short one, and brought her into a smaller, cozier bedchamber, windowless but well furnished, with a fourposter grander than any bed she'd ever slept in before. There were two chamber pots, a water-ewer and basin better than the best inns provided, and even a small decanter of what looked like wine, or something stronger. With two crystal glasses, yet!
"Clothing and gear will be brought to you when it's time for you to awaken," the guard announced. "Weapons will be bundled into cloaks and given to you outside the city. Please hold out your arm."
Tantaerra did so rather warily, but all he did was give it a good long look, then ask, "Sword arm right or left?"
"R-right," she answered, taken aback. She was a dagger girl, not really a swordswinger, but-
The door slammed and locked, and she was alone. Barefoot but warm in this room of thick rugs, tapestries, and warmth coming from …
She drew aside a tapestry.
…an honest-before-the-gods ventilation duct! With an elegant cast metal grate over it that she could have off in a trice, even barehanded, and a horizontal stone shaft far too cramped for any but the smallest human children-but quite big enough for a small halfling. Oho, yes!
Of course, she'd best also search for His Lordship's secret trysting door, not to mention any spyholes she could be watched through. In the ceiling, perhaps, or over the bed …
No, it had a full canopy. So, the wall panels …
It took some time, but in the end she could find no holes, and if any panels slid, were hollow, or had hinges, they showed no signs of it to her eyes.
Which of course didn't mean there wasn't a hidden way. Yet if she simply wasn't to be found when Telcanor came calling …
She shrugged off the robe, went to the grate, and was into the dusty, cobwebby, rough stone shaft in that self-promised trice.
It ran a long, straight way before darkness hid the rest of it from her. This mansion must be huge.